Simian Line
by Susanne Barringer
Summary: Scully takes issue with Mulder's idea of responsible parenting.


TITLE: Simian Line   
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer   
EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net   
ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay, but drop me a line.   
CATEGORY: SH   
KEYWORDS: Established MSR   
SPOILERS: None direct, but assumes knowledge of the main event in   
"Existence."   
RATING: PG   
SUMMARY: Scully takes issue with Mulder's idea of responsible parenting.   
DISCLAIMER: Characters borrowed from all the appropriate people. No   
infringement intended.   
  
Thanks to Sue for the encouragement.   
  
~~~~~~~~~   
  
Simian Line   
by Susanne Barringer   
  
  
I know I'm in trouble as soon as I see the look on Scully's face and the business   
card in her hand. I don't have to be psychic myself to know there is, in fact, a   
psychic's name on the front of the card--Madame Olivia to be exact--or that   
Scully is about to give me the third degree.   
  
"Mulder, where did this come from?" She waves the card in the air.   
  
"Where did what come from?" Playing dumb isn't smart with Scully, but neither   
is flat-out confessing if I don't have to.   
  
"This business card for Madame Olivia? I found it on the bedroom floor."   
  
"I don't know." Like that's going to fly with Scully. Card on bedroom floor--no   
one's ever in there but her or me, and it surely isn't hers.   
  
"Mulder, did you go see a fortune teller?" I struggle to create an answer that isn't   
a lie, but maybe isn't quite the whole truth either, and wish that I could disappear   
into the sofa cushions. "Mulder?" The tone suggests a certain foot-tapping,   
although from where I'm sitting I can't actually see her feet.   
  
"Fortune teller's archaic, Scully. She's a palm reader." Scully looks at me like   
she's had enough of the avoidance techniques. Oh hell. "And, yes, I did go to see   
her."   
  
"When?" The previous look deteriorates into suspicion.   
  
"Yesterday."   
  
She takes a moment to process the information, and I know I'm screwed.   
"Weren't you home with William yesterday?"   
  
I shrug. "Mostly."   
  
"Mostly?" She waits, but I offer no further explanation. "Mulder, please don't tell   
me you took William with you to a fortune teller."   
  
"Okay, I won't." She waits again, probably knowing that she's going to like the   
real story less than the one she just concocted. "William's the one who saw   
Madame Olivia."   
  
There is devastating silence. I can see Scully mentally packing my bags.   
  
"Let me get this straight. You took our son to see a fortune teller?" Her tone is   
calm and matter of fact, but I don't fail to notice the clenching and unclenching of   
the fist that isn't holding the smoking gun.   
  
"A palm reader, yeah."   
  
"Mulder!" She doesn't have to say anything else for me to hear it all. You'd think   
I'd taken him to get a tattoo by the way she's reacting.   
  
"It's harmless, Scully." I know she knows that, but I suspect that's not the point.   
  
"I know, Mulder, but that's not the point." Bingo! "What purpose does it serve,   
and don't tell me you believe that stuff."   
  
I struggle to maintain my thoughts in the face of the onslaught. I had it all   
reasoned out in my head, but that was before I was forced to take the defensive.   
"He has a simian line. I was worried."   
  
"A what?" She takes a few steps toward me. I'm uncomfortable with this   
situation--her standing and me sitting, her probably wondering where she left her   
gun. It makes me feel . . . vulnerable.   
  
"A simian line, a single line running all the way across his palm." I motion it out   
across my own palm as she looks down at me with exasperation.   
  
"I know what it is. A single palmar crease--it can be a marker for Down   
Syndrome."   
  
"Exactly!" Scully sighs and takes a seat next to me, albeit on the other end of the   
sofa.   
  
"Mulder, William doesn't have Down Syndrome, and I know you know that.   
Many healthy people have a palmar crease."   
  
"Three percent of the general population. I know, Scully, but my point is that it   
means something." I think I can make her understand. Maybe.   
  
"So you took him to a fortune teller to find out if he has Down Syndrome?" She   
shakes her head and rubs an eyebrow in frustration. It certainly sounds ridiculous   
when she says it.   
  
"A palm reader, not a fortune teller." The distinction has come to matter more   
and more, despite her refusal to make it.   
  
Scully waves the business card in front of me, then reads "'Psychic to D.C.'s most   
elite' and, oh look, there's a crystal ball!" I know she's mad now if she's being   
argumentative over semantics.   
  
"Okay, whatever, but I didn't take him to check on Down Syndrome. Think of it   
as a metaphysical check-up of sorts."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Simian line, Scully. The heart and head line are chained instead of being   
separate. That can cause lots of problems. People with a simian line may have   
difficulty separating their intellectual desires from their emotional ones, and often   
spend their lives searching for something they never find. They're very single   
minded, and very intense." I hold up my hand. "I have one."   
  
"Big surprise." The aforementioned eyebrow lifts to emphasize the sarcasm.   
  
I'm not sure I'm making any progress on my defense, but I continue anyway.   
"There can also be tendencies toward extreme violence. Ted Bundy reportedly   
had a simian line, I bet Berkowitz, too. The X-Files are probably full of people   
with it."   
  
"And you have one? Are you inclined to become a serial killer?"   
  
"No, but you know how closely I walk that fine line of sanity." That brings a   
smile and I sense her coming to at least a little understanding.   
  
"Mulder, please don't turn our son into an X-File. Can't we just live like normal   
parents, assuming that our child has a long and prosperous future ahead of him   
and not push our luck? Is it necessary to condemn him to being a serial killer   
before he's even learned to crawl?" She leans back against the arm of the sofa   
which is at least a step forward from the straight-backed "I'm pissed as hell"   
position in which she formerly sat.   
  
"I just wanted to check, Scully. It could be bad news, but as it turns out, it isn't.   
He's got really nicely rounded mounds of Venus and the Moon, so that bodes   
well."   
  
"That isn't just baby fat?"   
  
"I can see you're talking my concerns seriously."   
  
"Mulder, I could have told you that William is not going to be a serial killer and   
saved you the money." She crosses her arms in front of her to make sure I   
understand that she hasn't entirely forgiven me yet.   
  
"It wasn't just that. I mean, seriously, do you really want him to grow up and be   
just like me?"   
  
"You have a point." I know from experience that sarcasm is part of her process of   
forgiving me, in a weird way. She has to get in her digs, so I'll let her.   
  
"I was just worried, Scully, like you worry when he's got a fever. You're not so   
much worried about the fever itself; you're worried because you know all the   
worst possibilities. You know all the things it could be, even though it probably   
isn't. It's the same with me and the simian line. I know he's fine, but I couldn't   
help but think about the worst case scenario."   
  
She sighs and won't catch my eye. "Okay, I get it. But can we discuss it first next   
time?"   
  
That doesn't seem unreasonable, and I probably should have told her what I was   
thinking of doing. Still, it seemed easier somehow to tell her after I'd done it than   
try to convince her that it needed to be done.   
  
I'm saved from trying to apologize, however, thanks to William's crying. Scully   
pops up to check on him, leaving Madame Olivia's card on the coffee table. I   
wait a few moments before following her, but pocket the card on the way just so it   
doesn't set her off again.   
  
I stand in the doorway and watch as she strokes softly over William's head, trying   
to get him back to sleep. He drifts off quickly, and she pulls his pajama top down   
over his exposed belly. She watches him a few moments, then reaches down and   
lifts a tiny hand and uncurls his fingers. She runs her thumb over the lines and   
mounds of his hand. It is dim in the room so I know she can't see it, but I bet she   
can feel the crease, the deep line that runs straight across his hand. The simian   
line.   
  
She leans over into the crib and kisses William's hand, then looks toward me.   
"So, what else did she have to say?"   
  
I can't help but smile. "Madame Olivia? Ah, so you *are* curious."   
  
"Humor me."   
  
I motion toward the door and she follows me out. When we return to the sofa, she   
sits closer to me than she did before, so I sense a definite thaw.   
  
"He's got a strong lifeline, Scully, deep and long. Not like mine." I take her hand   
in mine and trace my finger in a curve around her thumb. "See, yours is branched   
and broken, like mine." I hold my hand next to hers. "But his is unbelievably   
straight and smooth."   
  
"He's only four months old, Mulder. His biggest trauma is waking up with a wet   
diaper and empty stomach."   
  
"The lifeline is forever. I mean, it can change, but it tells the whole life, not just   
the present. His is smooth sailing."   
  
"And it makes you feel better knowing that?" She looks up at me with honest   
eyes, trying to understand.   
  
"It makes all the difference in the world, Scully. I can worry less. He's had all his   
vaccinations so far, all his check-ups, and now a promising fortune."   
  
"I thought you said she wasn't a fortune teller."   
  
I ignore her need to get in one last gibe. "I just want William to feel and to think   
and to not confuse the two, and that's the danger of the simian line."   
  
"Mulder, we can teach him to love and teach him to think and I'm sure it'll all   
work out fine. You did." She gives me a bashful smile. The fact that we've   
moved from insults to complements is definitely a good sign. "Mostly, anyway."   
Or maybe not.   
  
There's a long silence, but it's comfortable--no longer filled with accusations. It   
appears I've rescued myself from the doghouse once again.   
  
"Hey, Scully. I can do a little palm reading, you know."   
  
"Really." She sounds unimpressed, yet she holds out her hand anyway. "What do   
you see?"   
  
I study her palm carefully, creasing my forehead in mock concentration. "For   
starters, you have an amazing capacity for forgiveness."   
  
"Lucky for you. What else?"   
  
"I see you have incredible patience for the follies of those you love."   
  
She nods approvingly. "I sense a pattern here. What else?"   
  
"Well," I stroke slowly over her palm, my other hand caressing her elbow. "See   
this? That's your love line. It looks like it's in need of some serious attention."   
  
"Is that so?" Her eyes meet mine. "Are you sure you aren't allowing your   
personal desires to influence your objective reading?"   
  
"Very sure." I plant a kiss on the rise just south of her thumb. Her hand wiggles   
under my lips. "Yes, this love line definitely needs lots and lots of attention."   
  
She watches me stroke over her palm some more. "Hm, well, I could probably   
have that taken care of tonight. Would you babysit while I go out?"   
  
"Very funny." She laughs, and I think maybe all is finally forgiven. I open my   
palm next to hers again and we compare fortunes. "See this?" I point to a random   
line on my hand; we've long since passed what little I do know about palm   
reading. "My palm says I'm meant to make you happy."   
  
"Wow, isn't that convenient? I mean, since you're here and all." She turns her   
hand over and places her palm against mine, lining up our fingers. Her heart line,   
so deep and so full, rests against my simian line, the thing that keeps me barely   
sane. The irony is not lost on me, and when she looks at me I hope she senses my   
gratitude.   
  
"Very convenient," I reply, wishing now that maybe I had told her my plans about   
William before the fact. It might have saved her some of the stress and anger that   
she inevitably goes through regularly because of me.   
  
"So, Madame Mulder…" She stands up and stretches. "Are you going to show   
me how psychic you really are? Come to the bedroom and see if you can predict   
what I want."   
  
As I stand up, I pull Madame Olivia's card out of my pocket and study it. "Maybe   
I should have business cards made up. Fox Mulder, psychic to D.C.'s most   
beautiful women."   
  
"Only if you want a crystal ball whapped upside your head." She gives me a   
smart look over her shoulder and heads toward the bedroom.   
  
"Ah, I didn't see that one coming."   
  
"Not so psychic after all, huh?" She stops at the bedroom door and turns back   
toward me. "Get your simian line in here and show me what it can do."   
  
I don't need to be psychic, or crazy, to be certain what our future holds.   
  
  
END   
  
~~~~~~~   
  
My apologies to anyone who sent feedback on my last story ("Sucker Bet") and   
didn't get a reply. I managed to delete a whole file of mail and so was unable to   
send the appropriate thanks. But thanks!   
  
I promise I'll take better care of my feedback this time. :)   
sbarringer@usa.net   
  
All my fanfic can be found at http://www.geocities.com/s_barringer   
  
More info than you ever wanted to know on simian lines can be found at   
http://www.angelfire.com/md2/simianline/simianinfo.html 


End file.
